


Up in Smoke

by Akarri



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Asphyxiation, Broken Bones, Case Fic, Ed tries his best, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Parental Roy Mustang, Royai if you squint, Suspense, Two Shot, Vulnerability, Whump, at least, for the first half, happy fma day, he doesn't have a great time, neither does Roy, suffocation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26789671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akarri/pseuds/Akarri
Summary: While the team is hunting down a group of smugglers, Edward sees an opportunity to move things along. Though he may be pressed to admit it, things don't go according to plan.
Relationships: Edward Elric & Roy Mustang
Comments: 40
Kudos: 220





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! It's been far too long since I have posted anything that involves my two favorite things: Parental Roy, and angst. But here I am just in time for Oct 3rd, FMA day! 
> 
> And while I'm at it, I would like to announce that I have finally made a FMA-based tumblr account, [ The-Original-Akarri,](https://the-original-akarri.tumblr.com/) where I post art and sneak peaks of fics I'm working on.
> 
> I have barely touched tumblr before this, so I don't really know how things work too well. That said, I'd love to interact with you guys more over there! Feel free to say hello!

Edward had a really good idea.

He knew there was not a single soul who would agree with him, but he was also just as certain that the assumed lack of support did not make his plan any less impressive; even when he was crawling through a thorny underbrush, pulling himself through the dirt with his elbows and snapping particularly dangerous branches with his automail.

Though as brilliant as his idea was, he would have changed some details had it not been too dark to make out the thorns before jumping head first into the foliage. They didn't offer much coverage due to half of the leaves falling off for winter, but it was better than nothing.

The moon had been covered over with a blanket of clouds, but Ed didn't need it to figure out where to go. The windows along the building he was stealthily moving around cast brightly out into the planters, conveniently lighting the way. He kept to the shadows just beyond them, stopping and ducking just a little further into the brush whenever we saw movement from within.

But it would all be worth it when he could bust inside and get a jump on those elusive drug smugglers.

Mustang and the team had been following the persistent group of criminals for well over two months by then, but had just recently lost track of them. It was only thanks to Edward's quick thinking and superior sense of perception that they had been found once more; which meant he just so happened to recognize a few familiar faces as they were climbing into a car from off a random street corner, which he followed by _skillfully_ tailing them to the large double story house on the outskirts of the city. Judging by the décor, it was likely some political big-wig's vacation home that had been left vacant for long enough to be deemed as a safe hideout. Unluckily for the crooks who currently resided inside, the Fullmetal Alchemist took notice.

The colonel surely would have preferred Edward head back and call the office the moment he found the address, but he decided there was no better time than the present as soon as he caught sight of someone forgetting to close one of the side windows. Ed also made a mental note to remember how kind the gesture was as he tore the ground up from underneath them upon getting inside.

Ordinarily, he might not have been willing to put so much into something that Mustang cared about much more than he did. Next to a few people who decided to make money off of carrying drugs and other illegal and probably stolen items across borders, Edward had more pressing matters to worry about; such as pulling his brother's body from the cold, colorless hands of Truth.

But that bastard colonel was too preoccupied to remember the indisputable importance of his mission, and 'didn't have the time' to go searching for any Philosopher's Stone related jobs for him.

Seemed like Ed just had to do every damn thing himself.

Edward pushed himself out of the mess of twigs that clung to his coat and pricked him in the face every few seconds, and pressed against the wall of the building beside the cracked open window. He listened for movement or any signs of life, then dared to peek inside.

It was a small room, filled primarily with cabinets and a large basin sink. The light was turned off, but he easily had enough to see thanks to the door towards the next room over being left ajar. With one more glance around his surroundings, Edward carefully climbed inside the scullery.

The counters were covered in stacks of pots, plates, and other such dining items, though all had a thin layer of dust, confirming his earlier suspicions. At least he didn't have to worry about any of the house's owners or staff becoming hostages.

He skulked into the next room over, which proved to be the kitchen, and quickly ducked behind one of the island counters. There were indicators that people have been there for at least a few days, but it was thankfully deserted for the moment.

There were two doors out of the kitchen on opposite ends of the room. Edward chose one seemingly at random to initiate _Phase Two_ of his genius master plan.

Edward encroached into another empty hall, suspicion rising with every passing moment. From the little information he picked up from Mustang's irritated lectures about this group, there should have been at least fifteen of them wandering around together. The longer Ed explored, the more he expected one of them to jump out from behind a corner.

The hall had a few uninteresting rooms that he swiftly passed by. Laundry room, storage; nothing that had what he was looking for. At the end, the hall opened up into the side of an impressively spacious foyer. Near him was a curving staircase that stretched over another grander hallway, with a matching staircase mirroring it on the other side of the room. With the copious amount of decorations and comfortable furniture, it looked to be an ideal space to entertain.

However, that didn't seem to be what the current occupants were thinking about, considering how the furniture was all pushed to the walls to make room for stacks of wooden crates and an _entire car_ just sitting in the center; and it sure wasn't the one he had originally tailed to get there.

On the other side of the car from where Edward was crouched, he caught glances of two or three people muttering over something. Bewildered as to why they thought it necessary to park their car inside the house, he decided to get a better vantage point.

With another cursory look around, he swiftly scaled up the nearby staircase, keeping his steps low and body close to the wall. At the top was yet another wide hallway, which was thankfully empty. From his perch behind the iron and wood railings at the top, Edward looked down into the foyer and was able to see two men were standing over a tire, presumably from the car, as the third had moved to walk through the large set of double doors that led into the yard. Through the tall windows on either side, several more figures were moving outside, but it was too dark to make out how many or what they were doing.

Regardless, Edward still didn't get why the car had to be inside. It looked like it would have taken a fair bit of time and concentration just to get the thing through the doors. He was certainly no expert in the topic, but it appeared to be a brand new model, with a top that could fold back and luxurious dark red paint along the sides. It seemed like a strange choice to transport illegal goods across borders, but Edward chose not to spend too much time thinking about it.

He turned back into the wide hallway to poke inside the rooms that lined the decorated walls. Luckily for him, the first door he checked had what he was searching for: a telephone.

It was a personal office. A large mahogany desk, a half-filled bookshelf, and a plush armchair in the corner; and most importantly, no people. Edward closed the door behind him and flipped the lights on, ensuring that the blinds were drawn closed. He moved to the desk and began dialing in the number the military headquarters as he nonchalantly eyed the papers that had been left behind on the dark wood surface.

The exchange with an office secretary passed quickly. Doubting that the clock on the desk had been recently re-set, Edward quickly checked his watch as he was put on hold. It was just after five in the afternoon; he wasn't sure if Mustang had decided to stay after his regular work hours, but previous conversations leaned the chances in his favor. The colonel had been eager to find his assigned group of criminals, more out of spite and annoyance that any other respectable reason.

Just as he was getting concerned, the phone clicked and the colonel's tired, automatic answer came from the other end.

“Hey, Colonel!” Edward began with a wide grin, eager for the reaction that was surely to come.

“Fullmetal,” the man huffed in response, not sharing an ounce of his excitement. “Why exactly are you adding to the list of things preventing me from going home?”

“Gee, Mustang, it sounds like you're in a bad mood. I guess I can call again tomorrow to tell you the news; you know, _after_ your marry band of smugglers are already long gone.”

There was an extended pause that Edward enjoyed a little too much, followed by Mustang replying with significantly more focus in his tone. “What are you talking about?”

“While you were sitting on your ass, I took the initiative and tracked down your missing buddies. You're welcome.”

“You're- what the hell are you doing?!”

“Settle down, Colonel. Do you wanna know where they are or not?”

He heard an irritated grumble and then what he presumed to be the older alchemist pulling out a pen and paper. “Fine, fine.”

“Alright. You know the road that leaves the city going north; off of Main Street? I followed them that way and then they eventually took a left onto some dirt road; I almost missed it. And then that kind of winds around for a while through some trees-” Edward continued his explanation until the road turned into the large house's property, though Mustang made him back up on multiple occasions to give more precise details. He also went into describing the building's exterior when Mustang started complaining about how vague he had been. Nearly ten minutes had passed before the colonel seemed confident enough in the instructions. Meanwhile, Edward felt rather worn out by the end of it, but he supposed that could have been avoided if he had taken the time to find an exact address.

As that thought came to mind, it occurred to him that he could probably find a mailing address in some of the papers scattered about. He redirected his attention to glancing through them again as Mustang rambled on about something. Another minute or so passed before he tuned back into what the man was saying.

“Are you listening to me, Fullmetal?” he barked through the phone.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, yeah.”

The colonel groaned. “You can't just run off without telling me. What if they noticed you following them?”

“Then they would have gotten a preliminary beating.”

“ _Fullmetal._ ”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Hey, I gotta go.” Edward's split attention began to wane as he realized that the papers he was looking at had been left by the smugglers; presumably whichever one was deemed worthy of calling dibs on the fancy office- a leader among them, perhaps.

“Wait a moment-” Mustang cut in quickly. “Where are you calling from?”

“Uhh... you know, I'm... around...”

“You're inside the house, aren't you?” he snapped accusingly.

“Oh come on, Mustang; would I _really_ do something so irresponsible and reckless?”

“I swear to god, Fullmetal- get out of that building _now._ ”

Edward feigned offense. “Hey, maybe I just found a telephone booth alongside the road; ever consider that?” He set the papers down and glared at the wall, deciding that he wouldn't be able to focus on anything he was reading until Mustang stopped yapping in his ear.

“I'm serious, Edward; get out of-”

“ _Uughh,_ stop wasting time and get over here. They're not just gonna wait around for you to arrest them.”

“I swear, if you're in that house by the time I get there-”

“Oh no, looks like I'm all out of quarters. See ya later!” He hung up the phone before Mustang could blow a fuse and released a deep sigh as he fell back into the office chair.

Phase Two proved to be more harrowing than anticipated, all thanks to the colonel overreacting, but he managed to pull through. The bastard would be thanking him for his efforts eventually.

After a brief moment, Edward leaned over the desk once more and returned to skimming through the pages.

It seemed like the group of smugglers were a tad more organized that assumed. He found charts and timetables of schedules perimeter checks and trips into the nearest city for supplies; which is what Ed stumbled upon earlier that night, based on the time frames that were written down.

Sparing a moment longer to ponder their plans, Edward's eyes drifted down below the desk and fell on a ripped scrap of paper. Pushing the chair aside, he reached down for what proved to be part of a handwritten note. It wasn't signed and the top half was missing, but it detailed specific instructions on how to find and then get into the house. It also alluded to transporting a package to another location in the city somewhere, with half of the address having been ripped off.

How incriminating.

With a good look at a map, he was sure they could figure it out.

Edward decided to pocket the convenient little piece of evidence as he stepped away from the desk.

If he had to guess just based off of that, it seemed whoever wrote the letter was very familiar with the layout of the house. It could have been someone who worked for the owners, or perhaps the owners themselves. The little bit he was able to read was vague about the actual entry part of the job, but he supposed that would later be someone else's job to figure out.

For the time being, Ed would be satisfied just by scoping them out and hopefully finding some opportunities to trap the entire gang in some alchemically created cages before Mustang and his team could catch up. That would show him, for doubting Edward's ability.

That would be _Phase Three_ , then.

Leaving the office just as he found it, Edward returned out into the hallway and sneaked back towards to the foyer. He knelt down the railing that stretched from one staircase to the other, peeking through the intricate wrought iron handrails down on the floor below.

Picking up on anything that was being said proved to be difficult as different people walked in and out of the room, some speaking over each other, some speaking all too quietly.

Edward started to get bored and contemplate waiting outside for the team to arrive, but before he could make a decision, a new person entered the foyer, announcing to “finish packing it up” with a few followers behind him, which were quick to carry out the corner. He had a authoritative air about him, and a long coat that helped him stand out. Ed expected to see the others start throwing the stacks of wooden crates into the expensive looking car, but that was not the case.

Not quite, anyway.

The crates were brought closer to the car, but the lids were pried open, revealing what looked like several packages, individually wrapped in layers of protective paper. Instead of placing them inside the car, Edward watched in puzzlement as the tire that had been left on the ground was opened in half, striking him with the realization that it had been cut in half.

Ed squint down on the display, wondering if the tire looked larger than usual. Though if that was the case, he couldn't be sure if it was specifically designed that way for their smuggling purposes, or if that was simply the _new thing_ in the car world. But even so, the wrapped items barely fit inside the hollow interior.

Within a few minutes, the tire had been filled and the other half was sealed back into place. There were almost ten people in the foyer by then, all working on different parts of the operation. Some had already began screwing another tire off of the car, while others focused on finishing up on the first tire and moving crates around.

He wondered if the tires not being hollow would keep it from driving well or if it would damage the goods, but just as the thought occurred to him, he saw the headlights of another vehicle approach from behind the front windows. Several moments of squinting later, Edward decided that it appeared to be some kind of flatbed truck. He supposed that was an inconspicuous way to transport a top-of-the-line car.

Edward recalled Mustang complaining about their targets changing transport methods every time the team got close to them, and that was partially why it had taken so long to catch them; not much could have been done without concrete evidence. He now knew what the colonel meant; those guys were getting creative.

A shift of movement from behind stole Ed's attention, causing him to whirl around on his heels just as a man appeared at the opposite end of the hall. They locked eyes for a speechless moment in mutual surprise. Edward's mind rushed through a series of potential reactions; though given the circumstances, it was hardly a competition.

Before the man could get a word out, Ed clapped his hands together and reached back to the iron bars behind him. With a flash, they unwound away from the polished beam of dark wood that previously held them in place and struck outwards down the hall, bowling him off of his feet. He stayed down with a pained groan, successfully winded.

However, while hoping to remain unnoticed, Edward turned to look back down into the foyer to see every person in there looking up at him, accompanied with some confused mummers, until the man in the coat yelled out: “get that kid!”

_Well, shit._

Edward quickly decided that _Phase Three_ of his brilliant master plan was complete, and it was time to leave.

Just as the foyer began to erupt in movement, he turned around yet again and sprinted down the hall towards the guy he had already knocked over. But as he jumped over the prone body, a hand grabbed onto his automail ankle, causing him to fall onto the rug face down with a surprised _oof_ as just a little too much air was forced out of his lungs upon impact.

He looked over his shoulder as the man who firmly held onto his leg began to sit up, and attempted to kick his free leg out to loosen the grip. Unfortunately, it seemed much too easy for the thug to pull on his leg to throw off his aim.

A flurry of footfalls storming up the staircases caused Edward to change tactics. He clapped his hands together and extended the plating on his forearm into an intimidating blade. He had no interest in actually chopping the man's arm off, but he hoped the threat would cause him to release his hold, like any sane person would.

However, instead of his quickly conjured plan progressing accordingly, the much larger man finally recollected his balance, got himself up off the floor, and pulled Edward up and unceremoniously tossed him in an overhead arching motion. He landed squarely on his back just as several more figures appeared at the beginning of the hall, effectively surrounding him. They at least seemed wary of approaching due to the large blade on his arm, even as he failed to appear very intimidating in his attempt to slowly roll off of his back.

Once he did get back on his feet, the bravest among the newcomers approached with a crowbar in hand. Edward did not appreciate the implication that he likely picked the thing up with the sole intent of bludgeoning the young intruder, but he rose up his bladed arm regardless.

The crowbar was also raised into the air as the man charged, though noticeably haphazardly. Apparently far more trained in wielded combat, Ed easily deflected it away and kicked him in the gut with a metal foot, having him double down and reel backwards.

One of his friends swiped the crowbar out of his hand and approached a heartbeat later. Instead of humoring the poor guy, Edward dropped to his knee and pressed his hands together, then onto the ground. A near-perfect square of the wood paneling below struck out of the ground just under his feet, propelling him right over the alchemist's head, and into the other guy who was getting a little close from behind.

Edward wasn't as practiced in transmuting processed wood, but it helped half the shapes were already there. That said, he doubted anyone present was going to criticize his form.

The few who remained standing no longer seemed too confident, but they didn't back down. Edward sneered at them.

“You guys are either really brave, or really stupid,” he goaded, enjoying the varying degree of annoyance that smeared across their faces in response.

With an irritated growl, one of them rushed forward with a clenched fist, which Edward grabbed in his own hand and redirected a bit to the right, nearly barreling him into his buddy. Said buddy proceeded to throw the first guy out of the way and moved as if he was a second away from blindly tackling Edward to the ground. That didn't seem too smart, considering the blade on his arm, but he lacked the time to make up a sarcastic comment on the topic.

Instead, he lowered himself yet again and swung his metal foot out in an arch, sweeping through his attacker's legs, and throwing him off balance and onto his face instead.

That seemed to be the last of the goons who followed up the stairs. Knowing there must have only been a few remaining in the foyer, Edward decided that he would have better luck escaping through the hall he originally came through, rather than stepping over all of the bodies that had stacked up.

But as he considered that, he allowed himself to redirect his attention for long enough for the first guy to have tripped him to get back up and approach from behind. Edward tuned into the sound of him nearing and swiveled to defend himself just in time for the man's entire body weight to plow into him, arms holding his own down, and pushing him back out of the hall through sheer momentum.

Ordinarily, the handrail would have stopped him there. However, since Edward had already removed most of the iron rodding that held it up, there wasn't enough support for the wooden beam to keep them both from crashing through and falling onto the first floor of the foyer.

Unfortunately for Edward, his smaller body hit the hard floor first, with the weight of his attacker coming down afterwards. He heard a resounding _thud_ even through the ringing of his head when it too made contact with the ground. The disorientation that followed made the realization that he also heard a concerning _crack_ come far slower than it should have.

Ed kept his eyes clamped shut long after hitting the floor, waiting for his stomach to realize that he was no longer falling. During that time, the heavy weight on top of him shifted off, allowing him to roll onto his back But when he did so, that was when the pain sunk in.

Intense tremors rippled up his left arm, nearly choking him on their abruptness. He blindly gripped his elbow with his metal hand, momentarily forgetting about the blade that loomed over his knuckles, in a desperate attempt to keep his arm from moving with every sharp, guttural breath that he managed to wheeze through his teeth.

Though not quite matching the pain of automail surgery, it was safe to say that his arm was on fire- or at least, his nerves were.

Despite the tight grip he had on it, his arm still shook tensely at his side as his vision blurred for a moment. He shut his eyes, willing himself to stay focused. His next impulse was to test his fingers, _shake it off_ , but an intrusive voice screamed at him not to. _Just stay still._

But he couldn't do that. He sensed eyes on him and heard movement drawing closer. They were probably taking their time, thinking that he was far too injured to fight back. But they would be sorely mistaken if they thought Edward Elric was going to stay down and wallow in pain- despite how appealing it might have sounded.

Besides the man who was also still recovering from the fall, someone else approached in the corner of his eye; a mere shadow, but it was enough to Ed roll to his uninjured side, albeit arduously.

He gingerly removed pried his grip off of his injured arm, then blindly slashed outwards, a silent warning to keep away from him much like a cornered animal. He hissed through his bared teeth as his flesh arm was jostled by his own movement, but he hoped the reaction came across more as rage rather than near-suffocating agony.

However, his uncoordinated, panicked self defense was cut short when he opened his eyes to see the barrel of a gun pointed at his face. He paused with an enduring breath stuck in his lungs, and willed his eyes to shift past the weapon and onto the wielder.

It was the same man in the long coat who had been throwing commands around earlier. Edward was willing to wager that he was also who had claimed the upstairs office and left that convenient note for him to find.

“You put up quite a fight,” the smuggler said with a deep frown. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t end this quickly with a bullet in your skull.”

Edward hesitated a moment, still struggling to keep up with the abrupt change in tone while the nerves in his arm ruthlessly seared,

“You don’t want to get charged with murder too, do you?” he growled and attempted a cocky grin that may have looked more like a grimace. “The military is already on their way. They’ll be here in any minute now.” He gained a significant amount of satisfaction from the shock that flickered in the leader's eyes.

“Is that so,” the man breathed slowly, hiding his concern from the rest of the gang relatively well. He was silent for several heartbeats. “Well, thanks for the warning, kid. Now we can get a head start,” he added with a confident smirk.

“Oh yeah?” he replied dubiously as he tried to shift into a slightly more respectable position from on the floor. “Good luck getting all of your shit together. I’ve only been here for a few minutes, but even I had already found some pretty damning evidence. Bet it wouldn’t be hard to find who you’re working for with all that information lying around.” He grinned widely through the pain, hoping to goad the man into an argument; ideally, without getting shot. The goal was to see how long he could talk in circles to give Mustang more time to arrive.

It seemed to work so far. Half way through turning back to address the surrounding group, the smuggler paused as Edward's words registered and slowly turned back to him, confidence replaced with a dangerous glare.

The sharp gaze remained for several beats, until he spoke out to one of his goons. “Go get a lantern from outside.”

Ed eyed the man suspiciously, subconsciously backing up a few inches despite the gun that was still trained on him.

Again, the man continued to address the others that mulled about, many still obviously injured from their scuffle with the alchemist. “Go grab anything of importance,” he ordered loudly. “This building is coming down.”

“What?!” Edward impulsively blurted out, failing to mask his shock.

The man turned back to Ed, but did not speak to him. “Remove that blade from his arm and then throw the kid in the hallway closet.”

Hands were holding his automail down to the floor and unscrewing the transmuted plating before he could get a word of objection out. That came some seconds later.

“Hey! Get away from me, you shit bags!” Despite his squirming, he could do very little to fend them off while one arm was being held down by people much bigger than he, and the other couldn't even twitch without hurting.

The plating was removed quickly, exposing the inner wires and complicated mechanisms. He found himself hoping they didn't try to mess with anything else in fear of Winry's reaction, despite having much greater concerns looming overhead.

The majority of surrounding group disappeared down different hallways to retreat whatever belongings they thought worth saving, while a few stayed. The two who had worked together to remove his weapon appeared in view once again and pulled Edward up to his feet, not reacting in the slightest when he was unable to hold back a sharp cry. His vision flashed white for a moment and he shut his eyes as his leg gave out. He was held up on his feet regardless, doing very little to keep himself there as his breathing suddenly required the majority of his focus.

“You can't be serious,” he heard himself say, though wasn't aware that he managed to do anything besides scowl. However, he calmed himself somewhat a moment later, deciding to simply tunnel a path out of the house once they left him alone. It would be difficult to pull off with a broken arm, but still should not take him more than a few minutes.

It took him longer than he would have liked to realize that he was being forced to move, and that someone was talking.

“I'd get an earful from our employer if it got out that we had been anywhere near here,” the man in the coat went on, though it was unclear who exactly he was speaking to. “We need to get rid of the evidence. This can all just look like an unfortunate accident; a bored kid sneaked inside and knocked a lantern over. How sad.”

Edward was sure his complexion paled considerably at that.

“Wha- you can't burn the whole building down! Your employer-”

“-doesn't have any personal connection to this place,” he cut in sharply. “It's no loss to us.”

Edward paused and dropped his gaze to stare at the polished floor, forced to rethink. He supposed it was just his luck that the situation wouldn't be nearly as simple as he had hoped.

“If it’s any consolation, kid, none of us find any joy outta doing this,” the leader huffed as he gestured his goons to drag Edward into the hall.

“You can’t do this! I’m a state alchemist! The military will be on your ass the moment I’m missing!”

The leader paused, but ultimately shook his head with a disappointed sigh. “That’s unfortunate. It may be a gamble, but it won’t do me any good to let you live after all of this.”

Edward sputtered uselessly, the list of comebacks he had conjured up all dying on his tongue.

“I recognize your type. You cause trouble everywhere you go. I just can’t risk letting someone like you run around here, ruining everything we’ve worked for.

“Why don’t we just shoot him?” one of the thugs pulling Edward along cut in, hesitating as they neared the closet.

“A bullet is evidence.”

The guy at least had enough decency to look uncomfortable at the thought of what they were doing, but that sure as hell didn’t stop him from helping. “Then we should tie his arms up. I saw him using some weird alchemy before; didn’t even need to make a circle or nothing.”

Edward grimaced despondently as he was forced to stop, his broken arm being moved in the process, shooting more relentless spikes on pain up his shoulder and forcing him to tune out as they discussed how best to restrain him. If his breathing was not already stiffened by the injury, he was sure he would have had a hard time staying composed when he saw someone holding up a thick roll of tape. The ear piercing sound of tape being forced out from the roll grated his ears and he flinched against his captor's grip.

They wasted no time in winding the adhesive around his torso, trapping his arms against his sides, and ignoring his pained shudders, sharp gasps, and pathetic whimpers. He barely had time to collect his breath and recompose himself before he was pushed forward again into the hallway.

After being half-dragged down the hall, he was abruptly stopped, and it took him a handful of seconds to look up at a inconspicuous door in the middle of the hall. The man in the coat opened the door, allowing Edward to see inside.

It was a small coat closet, though looked to be mostly emptied out. It was also dauntingly dark. He could see the far wall only a few feet away, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being pushed to the edge of a cliff.

He swallowed thickly, struggling to keep his fraying composure in-tact. “Hold on a minute,” he muttered, but was ultimately ignored.

Cued by a nod that he didn't see, Edward was roughly pushed into the closet with too much force to stay upright on his own. Without the use of his hands, he fell face down, narrowly turning his head in time to avoid bruising his nose against the hard floor. Gritting through the pain, he managed to choke out a desperate “wait!” just before the door shut behind him, encasing him in darkness. Only a sliver of light slipped in through under the door, which was just enough to make out the four walls.

As he wiggled onto his stomach, careful to keep his arm from being further jostled, he heard more low muttering, and the district sound something heavy being pushed across the wooden floorboards.

Foot steps trailed up and down the hall, causing Edward to tense and wait with trepidation. As he continued, he shifted himself closer to the door to peek through the sliver of light and saw shoes appear on the other end. The figure paused there, then turned, turned again, and then took a step away, which was shortly followed by a loud, jarring _bang_ as something large fell in Ed's minimal line of sight. He violently flinched back in shock, but just as he tried to look out into the hall again, whatever had fallen on the ground was pushed against the door, sounding heavily and bulky, and blocking the majority of the light out. 

It took Edward only a second to know what they were doing.

His death was to look as much like an accident as possible by blocking the door with a  _fallen_ piece of furniture.

Anxiety climbed up his chest, attempt to choke him- as if the incoming smoke would need any help with that.

Briefly before his sight was mostly blocked, he did not see any flickering implication that the fire had already been lit, nor did he hear any crackling of burning wood. That eased his worries enough to think with slightly more clarity, but it was a small consolation.

This is arm still shooting painful signals into his skull, Edward allowed himself to lay still for the time being as he listened to the movement outside. People moved with district urgency, though there was no telling if it was the military of the impending fire that motivated them.

He heard more orders being barked, and short, clipped responses. Ed pressed himself closer to the door.

“Keep the headlights off. We'll park off the road and let them pass us.”

Edward cursed under his breath. He needed to somehow communicate that to Mustang as soon as possible if he was going to get back at those assholes; or at the very least, show off the half-visible address he had in his pocket so they could catch them to their next location.

The scent of burning wood nearly passed right overhead without a second thought, as though he had nearly forgotten about the impending threat that demanded he escape as soon as possible. It reminded him of his travels on-foot with Alphonse, when they would throw together a campsite to wait out the night and talk by the fire. The memories swept through idly and without much thought, almost calming him somewhat. But that moment of ease was short lived, as he remembered what the wafting scent meant for him.

A momentary stillness fell over him where all he he could do was blankly stare at the wall, allowing his brain to catch up and fully process what was happening. He knew he was worried, but did not particularly feel it for those few mute seconds. He would compare the feeling to being in shock, but knew that was not currently the case.

Those few seconds were the calm before the storm; because right after, the dread came in.

If he were standing, it would have pushed him off balance with its overwhelming strength. He would have been left completely incapacitated, shocked into stillness by the dauntingly clear understanding that he was trapped in a burning building.

Edward shook his head and forced his breathing to level out, fueled with the knowledge that he would need as much oxygen as he could spare soon enough, and to waste it in his panic would be suicidal.

Stress pulled on his mind, wanting to slow him down and disorganize his thoughts. 

He shook his head again with much more vehemence and kicked himself away from the door; he couldn't lose focus yet. He couldn't just sit there and wait for the flames to spread.

Besides, Mustang and the team would surely be there soon too. Ordinarily, he would have stubbornly squashed any sense of relief that came from Mustang doing nearly anything, but as things were, he welcomed it. That relief banished some of the weight that hung from his shoulders, keeping him down, and gave him another moment of clarity.

It was just what he needed to awkwardly shift his weight forward and get his legs underneath him. He managed to push himself upwards, albeit wobbly without his arms to keep him steady. His left arm was still horribly bruised, to put it lightly. His only consolation was that the tight binding of tape kept his arm from shifting from his movements, but electrical bursts of pain still coursed through his bones whenever he breathed the wrong way, which was difficult to prevent when he had suddenly become very aware of the smoke that seemingly jumped in density.

Now on his feet, Edward took an irritated glance around the closet. Besides a few mostly empty hangers, there was nothing in there. Nothing to use, but also nothing to get in his way.

All he had for inspiration was the door.

The lock appeared to be built into the handle; if he could break it off of the door, or bust the door down altogether, he could stumble his way out of the building without too much difficulty. From there, he would just have to wait for Mustang.

Easy.

As it turned out, the  _escape_ portion of his brilliant plan was a tad more complicated than he had originally intended.

But it would work out in the end, as his genius plans always did.

With a deep preparatory breath, which quickly blended into a short series of surprised chocking on the building smoke, Edward backed up a few paces. He had not expected the smoke to reach him so quickly; it were as if they started the fire right outside the door. And based off the distinct crackling of nearby burning wood, that was not too unlikely.

That realization nearly left him frozen in shock. Part of him was still struggling to accept the situation he was in was real.

But there was no time for that.

With his jaw clenched tightly, he rushed forward, twisted his body, and collided his metal shoulder into the door handle.

He pressed himself against the door to keep from collapsing onto his face, then drew back to look at the result of his actions- which proved to be despairingly little.

Even so, he backed up to try again, wishing he could have at least removed his coat.

Regardless, Edward went on to bash his shoulder into the door handle yet again, listening intently for the splintering crack that would mean his escape, but the only sounds resumed to be the soft rumbling of fire, and his own worsening gasps.

It was a dangerous game he was playing. The harder he worked to get out, the deeper he would breath and the sooner the smoke would begin to affect him. If he couldn't escape on his own, he needed to at least still be breathing by the time the team arrived.

But there was no guarantee that Mustang would know to have someone search the burning house for him anyway; assuming there was something left to search when they arrived, of course. He had implied to Mustang that he wasn't actually inside.

The colonel wouldn't have actually believed that, right? It was a flimsy lie, but one he had said with such ease that did not quite inspire any sense of urgency.

Besides, what kind of fool would charge into a burning building with nothing more than a  _maybe_ ? 

That thought took more wind out of Ed's sails than he anticipated.

Some of the built up, adrenaline-charged energy sunk out of him as he backed away, shoulders slouched. Even so, the desire to persist kept steady. He held tightly onto it, and tried again to break the door.

Again and again, he threw his weight against it, picking himself back up slower each time as the toxic fumes seeped into the closet. The low roar of flames grew louder and the temperature seemed to increase by the second. He felt his clothes cling to his body and cursed his past self for choosing to wear so many damn layers. He was sure he would pass out from overheating if the lack of oxygen didn't get to him first.

He felt as if many minutes had passed, though it was difficult to tell through each shallow, rugged breath he took through the nauseating air. He eventually had to abandon his task for a moment in favor of pushing his head into one of the few dusty coats that hung in the corner of the closet. But after a few more greedy inhales, he spiraled around and threw himself into the door, ignoring the pathetic groan he heard from himself when it did next to nothing once more.

In total, he managed to dent the handle and the surrounding wood fairly noticeably, but failed to so much as splinter it. Any hope he had of getting out that way was fading fast. Unless breaking through the wall would somehow be easier than the door, Edward didn't have any other options.

The passing minutes were long and terrifying.

He had already tried pawing at the ground or the wall with his automail fingers in hopes of making even faint scratches, but his forearms were bound too tightly to get the mobility he needed.

Alchemy had always been the answer in the past. Paired with his raw determination, he was usually able to somehow make it work.

Even if it was only a broken arm, he would have grit his teeth and still forced himself through the pain to press his hands together and transmute his way out.

If they decided to rip his automail off in hopes of preventing that, he would have carved a circle into the floor with the scrap metal.

Hell, they could have cut his other arm off and he would still attempt to draw the intricate patterns with his own blood.

Of all the ways his escape plans could have been stopped in their tracks, it just had to be  _tape._ Something so painfully mundane left him, the Fullmetal Alchemist, tumbling in the dark like a newborn child.

If his chest wasn't tightening from an excruciating mix of panic and smoke, he would have been offended.

But as it were, he didn't have the time to entertain any luxury such as offense. He was far too focused on simply trying to breathe without coughing out the paltry amount of oxygen he managed to get down. Alongside that, it took all of his remaining energy to fight back the urge to just curl into a ball and hope that his sheer disapproval of his situation could make it all magically go away.

He couldn't allow himself to stop fighting. He had to keep trying. As long as there was blood in his veins, Edward knew he had no right to just  _give up._

An especially acidic taste of soot got into his lungs as he arduously pondered his next move, forcing out a reluctant cough. And then another, and then Edward nearly keeled over as he was hit with a persistent coughing fit, forced to back up until he hit the wall to keep himself from crumbling. 

No matter where he turned or what he did, there was no relief. There was only the taste of ash sinking into his lungs, and the sensation of drowning- that if only he could break through the surface, he would be okay. But he couldn't find it. He couldn't see and there was nothing to reach out for. No way to pull himself back up.

He wanted so desperately to at least hide his head in his arms, but even that trivial right was stripped from him.

Edward noticed a moment later that he had somehow lowered to the floor, held upright only by the wall behind his back. Through squinting, irritated eyes, he glanced down at the door again, and at the scant amount of light that managed to slip through in the corners. It was more orange than he remembered, and it flickered somewhat. The crackling of burning wood had gotten louder, closer, hungrier, but Ed struggled to notice over the frantic buzzing that rang in his ears next to his racing heartbeat.

His will to jump up to his feet and bust his way out in any way he could think of still remained strong enough, but his body refused to cooperate. He had allowed himself an instant of rest, but the minimal strength in his body abandoned him as a result.

He would have spat out a litany of curses at himself and the people who put him there if he could have managed it. However, no matter how fiercely he pushed himself to get up, the prospect of it suddenly felt like an obscure dream, miles away from the realm of possibilities. Even wistfully thinking about escape or holding onto the hope that Mustang and the others would arrive was beyond his capabilities.

Instincts took over and his mind went blank of all things besides  _breathe._ He needed to get away from the door and he needed to calm his heart rate. All thoughts of escaping vanished without him fully realizing, and it was replaced with the base desire to endure for as long as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Al is not here. Don't ask where he is. He's uh... watching someone's cat for the weekend. He went back home to participate in the semi-annual baking competition. Um... a burning building would be nothing for him. You understand. ;u;
> 
> The second half will come out in the next few days!
> 
> Thanks for reading. :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AahhhHHHh I'm sorry this took so long. Leaving on such a mean cliffhanger for so long was Not The Plan. But I was also the fool who decided to post half of a two-shot days before moving to another state. But here we are; hope you enjoy. :D

Roy dearly hoped that his eyes were lying, or that he was misinterpreting the orange glow that stretched through the trees. For once, every fiber in his being wished he had been given incorrect directions and they were actually miles away from their true destination. He was certain every one of his men were having the exact same thoughts at that moment.

He had gathered the team after Fullmetal rudely hung up on him and somehow managed to round together a small platoon in preparation for raiding the group of infamous smugglers, knowing it would do them little good to risk being outnumbered- even with the Flame Alchemist leading the charge. Splitting off into several trucks, they had all been tailing behind with Hawkeye at the helm, following the directions through the winding outskirt roads as Roy read them off. The dark layer of clouds that masked the night sky made it hard enough to find their way, but they were fairly confident that they had taken the correct turns.

When Roy caught the first a glimpse of light through the trees, he had thought it to be a mere sign that they were nearing their target. But as they continued onwards, Roy kept his eyes on the distant glow, and realized with a cold spike of dread shooting through his head that it was much too strong to be caused be a few household lamps. As they drew closer, the light only continued to grow, illuminating its surroundings with far too much brilliance.

Though its source was still far enough away and there were too many intercepting trees to make out any details whatsoever, an increasing unease chilled him to the core.

Hawkeye proved to be on the same harrowing page when she breathed out a quiet "Sir?" that was laced with unsaid worry. She kept her eyes primarily on the shady dirt road before them, but couldn't help sending the orange glow in the distance several concerned glances.

He didn't respond, even as she seemed to press down just a little harder on the gas peddle. There was nothing to be said; nothing besides a hushed "take the next left" after a full minute of silence. She did so, and the line of vehicles trailing behind did the same.

The few remaining minutes passed at an excruciatingly slow pace and the terrifying reality sunk in harder and more painfully as they approached the building. There was still some ignorant glimmer of hope up until they emerged from the tree line to the tall, expensive looking house standing overhead, nearly fully enveloped by flames. Roy realized through his horror that the remaining hope he still felt up until then was no longer clinging to the minuscule possibility that he was mistaking the unique glow of fire for something else, but just that maybe the building would still be standing by the time they arrived. Some tiny, optimistic part of him was glad that it was, but he spared no time in enjoying that feeling as far greater priorities took hold.

The row of cars all hurried to a stop in the clearing surrounding the front of the house. Roy quickly climbed out to survey the situation, moving to face the warmth that balefully emitted off of the burning building.

The roof was still intact, but several windows had been cracked open with flames roaring out, charring the sills and coating the surrounding brick in soot. The light illuminating from the building stretched across the clearing, coating the onlookers in a gradient of yellow and orange, and cast long, stark shadows into the surrounding forest like a warning beacon. The air was thick with smoke, and every breeze carried a whisper of quiet foreboding, soft and threatening.

That building was coming down, and there was no way to stop it. Even though Roy had the forethought to bring a long distance field telephone, the structure would certainly crumble before the fire department could make their way that far out of town. They would be able to spare the forest from the risk of catching fire as well, but even so, the colonel had more urgent concerns at present.

He didn't see any other vehicles on the way there, or any nearby. There was also no signs of people in or around the house, causing him to furiously wonder where the smugglers had gone.

The soldiers were loitering nearby, waiting for orders as they too gazed up at the destruction.

"Make a perimeter," Roy abruptly shouted over the low rumbling of the flames. "Watch the trees as well; they still might be in the area." He had to assume that the smuggles caught wind of the raid and this was their attempt to hide any remaining evidence, so it was unlikely that any would still be inside. But until they made sure, he couldn't spare the numbers to search the woods; not when the building could collapse in minutes.

"Fuery, call Command and tell them about the fire- and someone find the address to this place." He glanced over at Hawkeye, figuring that she had been paying attention to street names during the drive there. She gave him a quick nod and fell back to Fuery and the field phone.

With that taken care of, he directed his attention back to the raging fire. The soldiers had begun spreading out as ordered, but he doubted anything would come from it. He brought them to storm a base of possibly armed criminals, but that was evidently impossible now.

For a short, abhorred moment, Roy had the impudence to wonder how it was possible that they knew the military was coming. But the obvious truth struck him with such vehemence that he nearly took a step back.

Quite clearly, it was Fullmetal.

And with that thought came a series of other fearful concerns that almost gave him whiplash with how quickly they barreled into him. Once it occurred to him, he fiercely questioned how he had managed to go so long without thinking of the misplaced teen; as if he actually expected to believe that the kid had done as he commanded and gotten far away from the den of thieves.

Of course he didn't. When had Fullmetal ever done anything so convenient as following orders?

He felt himself move some paces forward, eyes glued to the intricately carved set of doors as they surely charred from the inside. Despite the warmth, Roy grew only colder and a sudden piercing headache disrupted his thoughts into a staggering jumble for a few detrimental moments.

 _The kid couldn't have still been in there,_ he wanted to reason. Edward wouldn't be stupid enough to hang around.

Except he wasn't waiting outside, ready to gloat. Nor was he anywhere nearby, haphazardly uprooting the ground in a flashy display as he wrangled with their targets.

That only left two possibilities, and he somehow doubted that the fleeing smugglers would have bothered to bring the young alchemist along with them.

"Sir." Hawkeye's voice jarred him out of his rapidly fraying thoughts, but his gaze remained on the fire. "Fuery got ahold of Headquarters." Her tone was primarily informative, but he caught onto the subtle hint of worry, and the underlining question that he shared. Her stare tugged on him, urging him to look at her. It took some coercion, but he eventually willed himself to face her, certain that she was able to read every thought that passed through his mind in that single moment.

Hawkeye's gaze hardened as something was tacitly communicated between them. He barely needed to utter the damning words "I think he's still in there," but he did so anyway in a breathless whisper, as if he was already inhaling smoke.

Her eyes shifted to the spitting, snapping flames and her mouth gaped open, struggling to find a solution that didn't result in what Roy was already considering.

He couldn't wait. Every second that ticked by brought them closer to the roof collapsing, and crushing everything below.

A fabricated image of what the inside of that building could have been like flashed across his eyes; support beams cracking, floorboards falling from above, smoke everywhere and the suffocating heat- and Edward, somewhere. Roy's heart raced, his skin burned, and he tasted sand.

He moved before he even managed to blink the images away.

Trailing back to the car, the colonel flung open the passenger side door and felt around the seat until he found the water canteen that he had brought along without much thought. As he drew back, he rolled out his left sleeve's cuff and doused the blue fabric over his hand with water.

Then he ran.

He ignored the eyes that stared into his back as he pulled on his ignition gloves from his pockets; the rough fabric would help protect from the heat.

If any of the other soldiers called out to him, he couldn't hear them. He only heard the familiar hiss of fire and his own beating pulse.

"Wait!"

He did, however, hear Hawkeye.

Roy paused on the shallow steps up to the door as a voice in the back of his head screamed about the lack of time. Even so, he spared a moment to look back at the lieutenant who had followed him up the yard.

He knew she wouldn't dare convince him to stay behind. If Fullmetal was in there, she would have been just as willing to charge in. But she worried for Roy, because neither of them had the power to prevent the burning building from falling right on top of him. Though she didn't want to voice it or show any lack of faith in her commanding officer, he saw the fear gleam in her eyes as the fire light danced across her face, almost as if to mock that fear.

Roy knew he had no more time for words. He looked into her eyes and tried to convey as much certainty as he could, though he very well may have wordlessly said much more.

Regardless, he wouldn't tell her to stay behind.

Just as quickly as he stopped, the colonel then turned back towards the building at a full sprint. Even through the door, the fire was loud and hungry. Evidence that the flames had already reached the other side were scattered, but daunting.

He only just barely slowed down to test the handle, fully prepared to throw his weight against it. The unlocked hinge surprised him, and he quickly pulled it open and slipped inside in the same motion. But as Roy glanced over his shoulder to see if Hawkeye was on his heels, the frame buckled when the support of the door itself was removed. The paneling above in addition to the horizontal support beam crashed down to the ground with the broken frame, all smoldering from the passing flames.

The debris kept the closed half of the doorway from being opened, and blocked the opening of the other side.

Roy looked through the wreckage despite the fierce heat that radiated off of it, balefully fending him off from getting too close. Hawkeye had been forced to stop, looking more frantic than he had seen her in a very long time.

"Go around to the other side!" he ordered, rising his voice to reach above the violent crackling of the collapsing house.

She met his gaze, expression steely in an adamant attempt to cover up the fear. "I'll see you there," she stated, leaving no room for argument. It was no suggestion or plea she was making; it was a promise- one he had every intention of keeping.

Unable to spare yet another moment, Roy swiveled around and glanced around the burning foyer he found himself in. His eyes stung from the ash and smoke that swam around the room, forcing him to squint as he held his soaked sleeve over his mouth and nose.

The polished hard wood flooring would have ordinarily had a hard time catching fire, but the abundance of rugs and furniture that had all been pushed along the walls unfortunately sped the process along., in addition to the haphazard collection of empty wooden crates that were scattered about. The flames had long since run up the long curtains that shouldered each tall, broken window, and had stretched up the two curved staircases up to the second floor and clawed at the ceiling. Somehow, even the wooden railing up above had already taken damage, judging by how some of it was sprawled out on the ground, giving the fire an easy path towards the hallway.

A moment of doubt tried to steal away Roy's nerve. Maybe Fullmetal wasn't in there. Or even worse, maybe he was but there was no hope of finding him in time. He only had assumptions to go off of, and the building was just too big to go through alone at the rate in which it burned; not to mention that going up to the top floor was just asking to break some bones when the floor would give out below him.

Roy grit his teeth and pushed himself forward, stepping over and ducking around flames as he crossed the burning wreckage. He breathed sharply, sparingly, through his damp sleeve as he clipped his canteen to his belt. He still tasted the ash and struggled to get in as much oxygen as his lungs craved through the fabric, but it would have to do. Only seconds had passed and he was already struggling against the desire to cough and choke.

"Fullmetal!" he spared a breath to call out, simultaneously fending off the doubt and fear for both himself and the kid. He was unfortunately unsurprised when he didn't hear an answer.

The colonel considered attempting to send some of the toxic chemicals away with a well-placed alchemic transmutation, but that would likely result in either an explosion elsewhere in the house, or suffocating himself from a lack of oxygen. That remained as a last-case scenario; one he dearly hoped would not come to fruition.

He heard something from down the hall, though it was impossible to discern if it was anything else besides the fire causing more general destruction; the crash of another piece of the wall falling to the ground, perhaps. But with nothing else to go off of, Roy hurried forward, thoughts stretched thin between focusing on breathing, looking for signs of Fullmetal, and keeping aware of any debris that may collapse into him.

Everything in sight was a searing orange as ashen clouds of smoke rolled across the ceiling, spreading ambers and ash like snow. The dry heat baked against his skin like an oven, reminding him of a sweltering desert. Instinct built during weeks spent on a battlefield fought to return, summoned by the intensity of the situation to keep his nerves in check.

Near the end of the hall, a decorative cabinet had fallen face-down, taking up the width of the hall and pressing firmly against what looked to be a closet. Just like everything else, the back of the cabinet had caught fire and it slowly crept towards the door, but there was something less natural about it. There were more flames on that one piece of fallen furniture than anything else nearby, as if someone had drenched the back with some kind of accelerant. It was suspicious enough to have him stop and consider the room that was being threatened.

With a boot planted firmly on the corner of the charcoaling piece of furniture, the colonel roughly kicked it out of the way of the door and went to open it, grateful for his gloves keeping the handle from burning his skin.

A heavy stream of many different thoughts and emotions nearly winded him as his mind caught up with his eyes, and he considered what exactly could have caused that cupboard to fall and catch fire so violently. Then in that fraction of a second, a series of possible events that could have resulted in his missing subordinate flashed across his vision. Following it, was a mix of premature relief and a new wave of overwhelming fear, which fueled him with just enough renewed adrenaline.

Roy yanked the door open. The orange glow that enveloped the entirety of the building stretched past him and just far enough into the dark closet to reflect off of the familiar red coat in the corner.

He realized then that he had never felt such an intense blend of sheer solace and horrifying terror at the same time, both from him being _right_.

"Fullmetal!" he gasped and quickly regretted it. It was an amateurish, thoughtless mistake that resulted in coughing on the smoke that he had let into his lungs. He pressed his sleeve harder against his mouth as he dropped to his knees before the prone body of his subordinate.

Edward had curled in on himself, back turned to the door in a weak attempt to avoid the fumes that crept in around the locked door.

It became clear very quickly that Edward couldn't have done much else to protect himself, as Roy's eyes fell on the multiple layers of thick adhesive tape that kept his arms firmly stuck to his sides.

His training thankfully kicked in before panic could run rampant in his overcrowded mind, and Roy hastened to unclip the canteen from his belt as he reached for the kid's shoulder with his other hand to roll him onto his back.

Despite the circumstances, Roy felt a fragment of tension roll off of him when he saw the kid grimace in response, eyes shut tight and expression just as taut as a dry, breathless groan escaped through his teeth, as if he had been trying to hold his meager breath until then. But even so, the colonel knew there was no time to spare on considering Edward's current state.

His sharp eyes jumped between them both for a moment before he decided to simply remove his jacket, despite it being his only real defense against the harsh surroundings. He didn't trust himself to rip through through any fabric to make a convenient clothe when it really counted, and Edward needed something to keep the smoke at bay more than he did.

Roy again soaked a portion of the jacket with water, barely sparring a second to cap the canteen once more. He inched closer and shifted an arm behind the kid's head to hold him up, and pressed the soaked fabric over his mouth.

The new sensation coaxed Edward to squint his eyes open. Though irritated and dry, he glanced up at Roy above the jacket, unable to form any words, but expressing such raw fear and relief in his eyes. A heartbeat later, his body flinched and spasmed as wheezing coughs ripped through his throat, though seeming to find some respite as Roy held the fabric over his mouth.

"Hang in here, Fullmetal," Roy exhaled as he reluctantly let go to position his other arm under the kid's legs. Ordinarily, he would have had Edward hold the wet fabric up to his face himself, but considering Roy didn't have the means or the precious time to undo the tape, that was not an option.

Forced to pause for a second to cough breathlessly as smoke streamed freely into the closet, he repositioned his weight and began to lift the smaller alchemist up into his arms as the jacket could only lay loosely on top of him for now.

However, that simple movement proved to be far more painful for Edward than he could anticipate. He tensed and squirmed in Roy's grasp, seeming to shift his weight off of his left side as much as possible, and he involuntarily cried out through his strained jaw, akin to a whimper; it was a miserable sound that Roy almost struggled to believe actually came from Fullmetal.

He dithered a moment by the impulse to lower him again and check for what exactly was causing Edward so much pain, but ignored it in favor of getting out. While there was no true competition of priorities, he still felt something coil in his chest.

Mindful of the jacket, Roy pulled Fullmetal's head up against his chest, hoping to block out as much smoke as possible. Edward was far too busy gasping for breath through the sodden fabric that Roy ensured was still covering his mouth to consider complaining.

Now it was a matter of getting out. Roy knew he could not last long if he lingered there for a moment more. Lowering his head, his back to the hall, he inhaled as much burning oxygen as he could manage, which was pitiably little, and turned out through he doorway and towards the back end of the house.

He entered a kitchen at the end of the hall, and it became quite apparent than the fire had started in the foyer. There weren't nearly as many flames stretching into the rooms further in, but the smoke was just as suffocating, and it would only take minutes for the fire to spread. It was already beginning to burn in through adjacent rooms, based on the black splotches that marred the painted walls.

However, there were multiple doorways from there, and little room to gamble.

A particularly paralyzing coughing fit struck him before he could make a decision, forcing him to stiffen both his stance and his hold on the kid in his arms. Delirium was creeping up on him; the smoke seemed to only grow darker, clouding through each room in a cruel attempt to turn him around. His eyes strung to the point where keeping them open was a far more laborious task than it should have been. Tears swelled in an attempt to clear out the ash, but it did little besides hinder him further.

He pushed himself to stagger forward, fueled by panic, which he knew could quickly become his undoing. The path he chose almost at random opened into yet another hallway, filled with more inauspicious doorways. He growled irritably as he backed up and turned another way; he couldn't waste time wandering aimlessly.

Each step was heavier than the last, and Fullmetal's weight was not helping. Even so, Roy held him closer, painfully aware of each choked cough and tortured gasp that shook his small, weakened body.

It was overwhelming. The heat, the toxic air, the roar of the spreading flames and every one of his subordinate's laborious breaths, his own struggling body, and the immense need to find a way out of the unfamiliar labyrinth of a mansion.

Every thin, unavoidable inhale turned into a gaspish cough that threatened to bring Roy to his knees. His mind again returned to the hellish desert that he had personally ravaged with flames, and the same animalistic thirst for escape overtook his overwrought thoughts.

He once deluded himself into thinking that the destruction of a burning building or a field alight with flames were familiar sights that could no longer faze him; it was another attempt to keep even a fragile grip on his sanity.

But that was years ago. He knew better. He knew that no amount of experience could fend off the primal fear of burning alive.

The colonel backed away and turned around. Though he would have no recollection of which way he actually went, his stinging eyes fell onto an open doorway along the side of the room. It was dark inside; too dark for anything to stick out at first, but his heart leapt as he recognized a window sill in the next room over. Even as he hobbled towards it, he couldn't make out a single thing beyond it. The opening to the outside was pitch black from the harsh shadows cast by nearby flames. Even perceiving if the window was open or not was far beyond his current capabilities.

He also just so happened to be far beyond caring about something as trivial as glass. He would break through it if he had to.

With mostly just his own weight, Roy willed his legs forward; each step proved to be more difficult than the last as his lungs tightened and a foggy airiness clouded in his mind. He forced himself to simply hold onto whatever breath remained in his chest, though it was sparingly little. He felt his chest crying in objection and abuse, but he ignored it. _He was so close._

He continued his pathetic half-run into the next room; it was small and lined with cabinets and other kitchen items that would likely not survive; but the window greeted him, and he returned the favor by throwing himself towards it, head bowed, and arms tightening around Edward.

A burst of cold winter air hit him the moment he barreled himself through the opening. He felt himself fall and instinctual rolled onto his back just before he collapsed into the brambles that scattered around the cold ground.

With Fullmetal's weight coming down on top of him, what little air he still managed to hold into was pushed out, leaving him winded and gasping for air against his throat that had gone taut from strain. Paired with the smoke he had already inhale, his body fought to breathe for an excruciating moment in which he truly began to fear that he would still suffocate.

Roy felt thorns piercing through his shirt, but he couldn't bring himself to move even if he had the strength. He felt Edward manage to turn his head to the side to greedily choke down fresh air as well; fresh compared to the interior of the house, anyway. Their surroundings still reeked of smoke, but it was all residual. They no longer were forced to breathe in the toxic fumes, and were unable to do anything else but lay there and cough for the next few minutes.

He was unsure how much time exactly had passed when Roy finally managed to open his eyes, blinking through the involuntarily stinging tears. Each inhale was still just as laborious, but he managed to ease his rough, desperate choking somewhat.

When he finally managed the strength to glance down, Roy realized only then that he still had his arms tightly wrapped around the kid who was struggling to recover judging by how he continued to cough and choked with every attempted inhale, none of which seemed to have any substance to them. But as long as he still had the strength the try, Roy knew he would be alright; after being checked over by a doctor, anyway. There was no telling how long exactly he had been trapped in that closet.

Roy loosened his grip, finally allowing his arms to slacken to his sides. He then tugged weakly on the jacket that Edward was still partially laying on, and moved it out from under him. After discarding it on the bed of thorny bushes next to him, he gently rolled the kid off of him and to the side, ensuring that the jacket would protect his head from the thorns, and certain that his red coat to do the rest.

Being moved to a face up position seemed to help somewhat, as Edward's wheezing gasps turned into deep coughing in between intakes, and then into forceful breaths that were only interrupted every few seconds. Every ounce of his energy was focused solely on breathing; he continued to convulse periodically even after it began to even out as his body tried to psychically reject the smoke that he had swallowed on their way out.

Roy glanced over at the kid beside him, who still had his eyes shut, expression pulled tight, far too distracted to return the favor. His face and clothing were coated in a dusty layer of ash and soot, besides the noticeable streaks that ran down his face, either from tears or sweat or both. His entire frame shook relentlessly, making him look more pitiable than Roy thought possible- not since they first met in Resembool.

It took longer than he would have liked to remember that he wasn't allowed to rest just yet. Roy forced himself up by his elbows, ignoring the thorns that poked through his sleeves and the sharp, shallow coughs that still ripped through his throat with nearly every breath.

"You alright?" he willed himself to ask, though it came out as a breathless, dry whisper.

Edward's response was nothing more than a winded groan, but it was enough. He had heard him. He was alive, and conscious, and breathing- arduously and in very evident pain, but he was still breathing.

It was enough.

Even so, Roy could not yet sit idly by. He allowed himself a moment longer to collect himself, then rolled over to his knees. Each movement was slow and reluctant, but he eventually managed to get to his feet and stay up without doubling over. He then wrapped his arms around Edward once more and pulled him off of the ground.

The kid squirmed weakly from being moved again and his overall discomfort, but just hung limply in Roy's grasp as he tried to keep his festering concern at bay.

Having to take high, careful steps to escape the planter that lined the side of the house, Roy eventually dropped to his knees once more in the safe nearby dirt and carefully set Edward down against a tree, noticing then that his automail hand had clung onto Roy's blue jacket, dragging there with him. The kid wanted to writhe into a ball and fall to his side, but Roy kept a hand on his shoulder to prevent him from doing so just yet.

Roy took a cursory glance around their surroundings, specifically to get a grasp on their exact location and to find his lieutenant. However, the side of the house that they escaped through was less visibly lit up from the outside than the front, casting the two in darkness and out of sight from any of the soldiers that wandered the nearby clearings.

Even so, the fire behind them still crackled and crumbling debris from inside could be heard every few minutes to serve as an ominous reminder.

Roy was torn, knowing that his men were worried, but Edward was currently his foremost concern.

"Fullmetal." He watched his expression carefully, searching for coherence. Edward's shut eyes scrunched further, then blinked rapidly, struggling to stay even slightly open. His overall expression was just as just as tight with pain as before despite being freed from the flames, though his shoulders were slightly less tense.

Though he had the kid's attention, Roy had no idea what there was to be said. Instead, he remained quiet as he went to work on finding the seam along the binding of tape. Edward tensed himself again as if expecting to be struck, causing Roy to pause.

"You're hurt, aren't you?" he breathed abruptly, almost accusatory, as the thought occurred. The kid must have gone through hell in just the time it took Roy to hang up the phone and drive there.

He at least had the decency to look bashful through the pain. "Arm's broken," he whispered between coughs as he diverted his gaze.

"Shit," Roy hissed and reconsidered his plan. Simply unrolling the tape was sure to cause more pain than he was willing to inflict. Instead, he shifted his weight and pulled at the tape near the automail arm, then snapped his fingers, burning through it, and smothering the embers with his other gloved hand before they could spread. He proceeded to roll up the tape as careful as possible.

Once his arms were unrestricted, Edward sighed roughly and gingerly pulled his injured arm a little closer to his body. But before he could get too comfortable, Roy undid the lid of his canteen and handed it over to Ed, who took it without comment.

Meanwhile, Roy released a toiling breath as he shifted back and turned his gaze to their surroundings, allowing them both time to collect their bearings.

The fire hissed further away as flickering light ebbed along the corners of the building, alongside the harshly cast shadows. In spite of the destruction, the forest seemed so quiet; almost peaceful, but Roy wasn't about to entertain that thought.

There was no peace to be found that night.

Even then as the cold wind soothed any minor burns he may have been inflicted with, his heart continued to hammer in his chest, beating against his ribs as a reminder that he was one wrong turn from getting lost in there.

A loud crash rang out from the building as pieces of the ceiling fell through the second floor and to the first, followed by a flurry of embers flying out of the windows. Every spark dissipated into colorless ash long before reaching the ground.

Roy moved to get up to his feet and search for Hawkeye as Edward intermittently chugged down the remaining water between gaspish coughs. But before the colonel could get far, Fullmetal lightly bumped the side of the canteen against Roy's arm in favor of stopping him vocally. He paused mid-motion and glanced back at Edward as he took the empty bottle from his metal hand, noticing the intensive gleam in the kid's reddened eyes.

"Thanks," Edward whispered, tone clipped and strained. He blinked rapidly as he looked downward, fighting back tears that had lingered since before he was found.

"You're welcome." The words tasted stale in his mouth, like he was doing the dire situation a disservice somehow. He could have died. Edward could have died. They both miraculously survived, but he still couldn't think of anything to say. His mind was still too fogged. He wanted to believe that between Edward and him, there wasn't a need to say anything.

As he knelt next to Fullmetal- the miserable looking child- and only then began to wonder if the streaks that ran lines down his soot-covered face were truly only from his eyes reacting to the hot, toxic air; just as he wondered if the tension in his expression was from something more than the physical pain.

Almost as if he was privy to Roy's oblivious musing, his mouth tilted down as something akin to frustration flashed across his visage.

"No," he coughed out shallowly.

Roy kept himself from responding too quickly, knowing Edward had no choice but to be as terse as possible. "Don't act like-" he paused and inhaled sharply, then released the breath slowly-"like it's no big deal."

Movement further down the house, near the backside, drew Roy's eyes away. He caught sight of a familiar head of blonde hair surrounded by several blue uniforms, giving orders and sending them every which way. They were all cast in the bright glow of the nearby fire as it quickly spread through the house, shining out across the clearing.

He worried that keeping her waiting any longer would result in Hawkeye charging back into the burning building in search for him. He would be remiss to let Hawkeye and the others worry for longer than necessary, but he simply lacked the strength to yell out, and he couldn't quite bring himself to just walk away from Edward. The quick glance he targeted Roy with was enough to keep him glued to the spot. There was something desperate in his eyes; something that couldn't go left unsaid.

Even so, he decided to try his hand at calling out to her from across the field anyway, though his first attempt resulted in him doubling over and coughing dryly towards the dirt. He settled on snapping his gloved fingers, alighting a bright spark overheard to get their attention. It had the desired affect, as he noticed her hurrying over.

In the meantime, he lowered himself into the dirt with a weary sigh, knowing his tired, oxygen deprived body was relieved to be given another moment to rest. Edward also eased his posture somewhat, accepting that Roy wasn't about to jump up and run away.

Several quiet seconds passed while he wondered why exactly Fullmetal wanted him to stay without anything being said. Considering the circumstances, he didn't care to rush the kid as the silence drew on. They still had a moment before Hawkeye reached them, though he started to doubt that Edward could get the words out even if he wanted to.

"We can discuss it later," he suggested lightly. "Once we can both breathe a little easier." He had no idea what _it_ was, but something clearly bothered the kid.

Edward shook his head as he fought to gather enough air to speak again. "Then it'll never happen."

"What is there to talk about?" Roy murmured, mostly as petulant huff to himself. His eyes drifted across to Hawkeye crossing the field between them.

Even through his lingering coughing fits and overall exhaustion, Edward still managed to look annoyed. He was never one to bring up any honest conversation topic, but seemed convinced that it was necessary- whatever _it_ was in this case.

But through that annoyance and frustration, his eyes were still red and watery, and Roy felt himself falter.

Fullmetal struggling to string together a coherent sentence and breathe all at the same time. Whatever he was wrangling with clearly made him uncomfortable, judging by how he averted his eyes to the long shadows that stretched across the planter. The fire had already spread into the kitchen, casting flickering light through the open window.

Then all signs of any inner turmoil gave way to what Roy could only call disappointment. The kid sighed and pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and abruptly handed it to Roy without sparing him a glance.

The colonel quickly read the note over, squinting through the abysmal lighting until he saw half of an address. A series of questions ran through his mind, but knew better then to ask any of them carelessly when Edward could barely manage a sentence at the moment.

"Do they know you had this?"

The kid shook his head and pulled his wounded arm a little tighter against his side.

As Roy worked on forming together a response, he heard hasty footfalls over fallen leaves nearing, and he looked back at Hawkeye just as her shoulders slackened from relief.

"I'm glad to see you're both well," she sighed as her pace slowed and she lowered herself to their level. Though her words were simple, her tone suggested a great weight had been eased off of her.

"As well as can be expected, anyway," Roy managed shallowly as he sent Edward a quick glance, who didn't seem too interested in engaging in the conversation.

Hawkeye smiled though a soundless exhale. Though nothing was said then, Roy felt his racing pulse ease at the mere sight of her relieved, subdued but happy expression.

"By the way, Sir," she began. Roy hummed quizzically. "It's unbecoming not to stick to your own plans."

The colonel just blinked at her for a moment, ignoring Edward's amused scoff. Her eased expression remained, ensuring him that the jab was halfhearted, though there was likely some truth to it. While she would have appreciated if Roy appeared on the side that he said he would, she knew better than anyone that any situation can change rapidly, and adapting is vital.

Regardless, he quickly collected himself. "My apologies, Lieutenant. Won't happen again."

Edward opened his mouth to comment, probably with some sly comment at his expense, but was cut off with another coughing fit instead, that left him winded against the tree.

Hawkeye looked between them both again, then pulled her usual stoic professionalism back into place. "Both of you are going to the hospital."

Both alchemists managed to grimace in unison, but there was no debating it this time. Even so, all Roy could manage was a noncommittal "yeah, yeah," as he avoided her pointed glance. "Meanwhile," he diverted as he held up the ripped paper towards her, "have some people look into this. Fullmetal found it inside; seems to be where they're running off to."

She gave the note a once-over, then nodded. "Understood."

"They-" Edward began, pausing briefly to fight off more coughing. "They were hiding stuff in the tires of a fancy car. Guessing they snuck the thing out of here after you guys drove in"

Roy _hmm_ ed to himself. He regretted not noticing the smugglers on the way into the area, certain that he and everyone else were too distracted by the fire to think to look for darkened cars hidden in the brush, waiting for them to pass. But on the other hand, if he had gotten caught up with them before reaching the building, he might not have been able to save Fullmetal.

Hawkeye nodded, on the same train of thought as the colonel. While she rose back to her feet to take care of the matter, her eyes softened once more as she looked down at the two. "Are you sure you're both alright?"

Roy blinked up at her, then looked over at Edward. The kid still seemed uncomfortable and avoided eye contact, but given the circumstances, that could mean anything.

"We'll be fine, Lieutenant. We'll meet you at the car in a minute."

She paused, easily digesting any unsaid message in his words. "Very well."

Hawkeye swiftly left the two alchemists to follow up on the scribbled address.

He watched her go, then turned his attention back to his younger subordinate.

"This isn't all you wanted to say, right?"

Edward glanced away, breathlessly coughed again, and slumped further back against the tree when it finally settled. Even then, he remained quiet, dueling with his thoughts.

"What kind of dumbass charges into-" a harsh cough interrupted him. "-into a burning building alone?" He spat the words, though the force behind them did not seem targeted at Roy.

The statement caught him off guard. Roy chuckled, though it was more of a sharp, somewhat amused exhale. He tasted ash and repressed a shudder. "The same kind of dumbass who enlisted a child into the military, I suppose."

Fullmetal hummed indifferently, accepting the answer, but somehow still coming across as unsatisfied.

"Is that all that's bothering you? That I ran in there for you?"

"You couldn't have known for sure that I was even there."

"I know you would have done the exact same thing if it came down to it." The kid made a face and hunched his shoulders slightly.

"Not the point."

"Then what is the point?"

"I... don't know."

"You don't-"

"I would have died."

Roy let a few seconds pass as he studied the kid's closed comportment. "Let's be honest; wouldn't have been the first time, after all the stunts you've pulled in the past."

"Not the same," he replied stiffly with a shake of his head.

Roy gave him a look.

Edward's eyes narrowed with muted irritation as he looked over to the colonel. He was quiet for a moment, contemplative, until: "has the Flame Alchemist never been trapped in a burning building before?"

He paused, shoved to a stop, forced to reel back and allow his thoughts to stray to a time he usually tried to block from his passive memory.

His own flames had turned on him from time to time, most often when he was still trying to master the craft, but that's not what Edward meant.

There was one time during the war- his mind warped him back there in an instant, adding depth to the old mental photos that the recent events kept trying to wave in front of his face. He ignored them the best he could before, but for a moment, he was back in that ransacked shack in the desert that was once the home of an Ishvalan family. Per his orders, he followed an enemy squad into the area, and failed to notice the lighter fluid that had been doused over the interior up until he snapped his fingers.

It was a miracle he managed to claw his way out before the flames could take him.

Roy blinked back to the forest and the cold air and the crackling of flames, and Edward carefully watching him.

Fullmetal had charged headfirst into countless dangerous situations. He had faced rogue alchemists, terrorists, murderers; he didn't always shake off each encounter as if it were nothing, but there is a fundamental difference between looking down the barrel of a gun and being trapped by fire as it overloaded all senses and slowly consumed one's ability to think and breath.

It was not necessarily harder or easier to cope with at the end of the day, but Roy knew from experience that it was something that could never be accurately imagined until it was experienced firsthand.

They were different kinds of fear.

Roy hummed somberly to convey some kind of understanding, followed by a breathless "yeah" as he tried to shrug off the unpleasant memories. "I can't tell you that it gets easier."

Edward _hmphed_ after a series of shallow coughs. "I don't plan on reliving it."

Roy easily relating to the sentiment with a quietly amused huff. He felt the corner of his mouth pull upwards into a brief, halfhearted smile, but it quickly dissipated as he continued to watch Fullmetal, still getting the impression that there was something else.

Anyone could consider what they would attempt to do if a building caught fire, but actually living it was something else entirely.

Edward was shaken by it.

Roy had liked to convince himself that he was desensitized to that sensation by then; he had struggled with it too many times in the past already.

If it were not for his experience as an alchemist and a soldier, he would have been paralyzed by it. He suspected Fullmetal had endured just that as he sat alone in that closet, and even now as he stared at the ground as if it were miles away.

He opened his mouth, but found himself lacking the words. Edward looked up, noticed this, then scowled as his eyes darted back to the ground.

"It was just- it was-" he hunched his shoulders and squirmed with discomfort as if someone was forcibly pulling the words out against a valiant fight to keep them in. "It was _scary,_ alright?"

Roy could only mutely blink back at him, unfamiliar with hearing something so innocently childish from him. Edward looked like a child, often acted like a child, but he scarcely ever _spoke_ like a child. If he ever conveyed any semblance of vulnerability that showcased his true age, it was never in front of Roy.

Suddenly, he found himself wondering if this was not the first time Edward had been frightened in such a way.

Conjured images flashed across his mind of Fullmetal huddled in that closet, unable to keep himself from crying from the sheer terror and lack of power, wondering if anyone would think for even a moment that he was still inside.

A sharp pang pierced though a tightness in Roy's chest. He had somehow convinced himself that Fullmetal was immune of such base emotions; he had the gall to think that the tears he saw were just from the smoke. With how brazen and fearless Edward often acted to keep people from treating him like a child, many others surely thought the same thing.

Roy moved without thinking, not giving himself the time to consider his actions fully before his hand was already on Edward's metal shoulder. The kid stiffened and glanced over at him quizzically, expecting something.

Roy, however, did not believe there was much left to be said. He could offer some words of condolence or sympathy for the experience, but while the thought might have been there, voicing them seemed to belittle it somehow. He got the implication that the only thing that really mattered to Edward was that Roy did not think he was weak for it.

"I understand," Roy willed himself to say steadily. "It _is_ scary." Edward's eyes widened slightly, though Roy wasn't sure if he was surprised by the agreement, or that he used the same rudimentary word. "But you're very brave."

The kid then averted his gaze and smirked slightly with a hint of cynicism in his tone. "Either brave of stupid, right?" He sounded amused, thinking back to a joke that only he knew.

"Hm?"

Edward shook his head. "Nothing." He sighed and cleared his throat. "But there's nothing brave about being trapped in a closet."

"Not that," he replied easily, receiving a scrutinizing look in return. "Being so close to a fire like that can be traumatizing. But I know you'll be alright _because_ you're so brave."

For a moment, Roy was sure he caught a glimpse of a small smile that Fullmetal quickly tried to hide. "I figured you'd be more upset."

"There's plenty of time for that later," he replied casually as he dropped his hand from the kid's shoulder. "Although, you would have better off going there with a plan, at least. Or better yet, following my orders for once."

"Hey, I had a plan," he shot back quickly, though was hit with having to cough on the smoke that still had in his lungs a second later.

The colonel waited for it to pass. "Is that so," he said dubiously.

"Yes! It was a brilliant plan. For the most part," he added under his breath. "It's true genius laid in it's adaptability."

"Sounds like you were making it up as you went along."

"As far as you know," he scoffed dismissively.

"Regardless, let's just stick to my plan next time."

Edward quirked an eyebrow at him in a way that quickly inspired concern. "Didn't Hawkeye just say that you couldn't even follow your own plan?"

It took him slightly longer than he would have liked to respond. "Quiet, Fullmetal; you weren't there."

Edward laughed aloud, though softly to avoid breaking into yet another coughing fit. "Yeah, whatever," he breathed, much more relaxed than he was at the beginning of the conversation.

Though he was still gripping his arm, he was covered in ash, cuts and bruises marred his skin, his eyes were still red, and the coughing persisted, but they both knew the fear would pass; though Roy still felt himself hope that Edward could one day sit at a campfire without thinking back on that night.

Eventually, Roy braced himself against the tree and push himself to his feet.

"Can you stand?"

Edward slowly nodded his head, cutting the motion short as another series of harsh coughs immobilized him for several strenuous moments. He seemed to hesitate; Roy took the movement to help him up by his automail arm. If the kid's stubborn nature minded the assistance, he didn't show it.

Once he was up and steady, Edward passed his uniform jacket back to him; or more accurately, pushed it into his chest, allowing him only a fraction of a second to take hold of it before releasing his idle grip. For his sake, Roy chose not to comment on the hit of embarrassment that Ed seemed to have received from the sentiment.

"Let's find Hawkeye and get out of here," he suggested instead as he took a few steps forward, expecting to be followed.

However, Edward wearily looked around the clearing, scattered with soldiers and vehicles, their clamoring mixing in with the rumbling of the fire. He returned to holding into his injured arm. "Is it alright to just leave everyone with this?"

"We can't offer them much help now. The fire department will arrive soon, and the others will pay a surprise visit to our smuggler friends by the end of the night."

Edward's expression suggest he wasn't entirely satisfied with not seeing the mission through, but lacked the energy to put up a convincing argument. "Yeah, okay." Then as an afterthought, he added with the slightest hint of mirth: "good plan."

Roy rolled his eyes as they slowly made their way towards the car, and away from the smoke.


End file.
